


Doing Bird.

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [49]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:36:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4325184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is an AU in which I write a version of what might have happened if Malcolm had been found guilty at his trial, following the Goolding Inquiry, and been sent to prison. <br/>And how his friends work together to help secure his release.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doing Bird.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic doesn't really fit in with the previous mini-fics. In that Sam and Malcolm aren't married, but only have a romantic understanding between them.  
> It's kind of a 'what if' story, and was just an idea I've been playing with.   
> Hope you like it.   
> BTW 'Bird' is a Cockney term for a jail sentence.

DOING BIRD.

The trial ended. A custodial sentence.  
From the public gallery Sam gasped, her hand over her face.   
How had this happened? Everyone else got off scott free.   
Malcolm's face did not waver. His jaw set tight. Eyes glassy. Hands balled into fists, knuckles white.   
He chanced one glance at her as he was led away. She shook her head at him, hoping her look told him what she couldn't say in words. 

An open prison in deepest Sussex.  
Well, it could be worse.   
At least he wasn't in Dartmoor with the axe murderers and the rapists.   
He posed no threat to society.   
The place teemed with young offenders mostly. Losers and drop outs in the main, who never really stood a chance, for one reason or another. Young men with attitude, swagger, and agendas.   
A couple were more vulnerable and misunderstood, and these were dominated by the stronger, more streetwise.   
Malcolm kept himself apart from them all.  
Fights were common, drugs were a problem. Disillusioned, no hope of betterment, you knew when they were released they'd soon be back.   
One particularly nasty piece of work, Kelvin, instantly made Malcolm's hackles rise. He insisted on calling Malcolm,  
"Old man."  
From the moment of his arrival, Malcolm watched him like a hawk. 

He felt it was all happening to someone else. A film, and he was a character. It wasn't real.   
He remained dazed. Unfocused. Lost.   
The numbness infiltrated every fibre of his being, as the days progressed he became more and more detached. Listless.  
Slowly his pattern emerged. Eat. Drink. Sleep.   
He started using the gym. Everyday. It was the only time he could concentrate on anything.   
Running. He would pound and pound until he could barely stand. Sweat poured into his eyes, down his back, but his mind was free. 

The building was 1960's. Red brick. Tatty. Corridors with concrete floors, metal framed windows.   
Studded metal doors. The clank of locks. The jingle of keys. He could be at the end of the world. Shut away from everything. 

Nights were the worst. Woken frequently by ever present noises. Shouts, footsteps, banging. Doors opening and closing.   
Laying awake watching the moonlight traverse the wall.   
His libido defied all logic. He felt constantly aroused in that room, in that bed, perhaps it was because his brain knew he couldn't do anything about it. Perhaps it was the regular meals and exercise that his body had seldom experienced, or at least not for many a year, and no alcohol allowed to take the edge off the feeling.  
He would lay and wank himself into the middle of next week. 

Communal meetings. Therapy sessions. Talk about your frustrations, your problems. Fuck that. His only problem was that he was here.......and he was innocent.   
He wasn't about to sit in a circle and say,   
"I'm Malcolm Tucker and I'm a criminal."   
They couldn't force him to attend. He refused. Point blank. 

Glenn Cullen visited. Painfully aware that he really ought to be locked up next to his former colleague. He hardly knew what to say. The quiet, dullard that sat beside him was like an alien being. He didn't recognise him at all. Defeated. Utterly. Glenn was ashamed. Shocked by the change in him. The way he carried himself now. It was true he looked lean as a whippet, but there was a slump of the shoulders, a drag of the feet. Broken.

Jamie McDonald visited. All past disagreements forgotten. Ever practical. He bought Malcolm stuff from his house. iPod, books, cards to use for phone calls. Anything to engage his some time friend. Items of food, to supplement the grey slop that, whilst nutritious, lacked any variety.   
He tried to chivvy Malcolm into a response. He failed. Detached. Expression clouded. The conversation one sided. Hard work.   
"For fucks sake Malc! Snap out of this torpor. You're doing yourself no favours. You're innocent for crying out loud! We must be able to prove it."   
"What's the fucking point? They've got what they wanted. My bollocks in a vice. Let them gloat. I don't care." 

Sam visited whenever she was allowed. 14.00 to 16.00. Twice a month. She never missed. Not once. She travelled down, alone, every visiting day.   
Her eyes scanned the high wire fencing, barbed wire on top. Swing barrier at the entrance, it reminded her of Stalag Luft from an old War film.  
She felt emotional, tearful, but she was determined not to show it.   
It wasn't like TV prison shows were they sat opposite each other, a Perspex window between them. They were allowed in a visitor room. Seated together on a couch. She didn't know what to say to him.   
Behind his eyes he was dead. Lifeless. Subdued.   
She held his hand in her own, and he looked down at their entwined fingers seemingly without comprehension.  
"Why do you come? I don't want you here."  
"We'll get you out Malcolm. I swear it. Tell me what I can do."  
He shrugged. As if he didn't know and didn't care.   
"Malcolm, focus. You're innocent, and I know it, there are others who know it too. We're outside, working for you."   
He looked at her, squeezed the hand, as the bell rang for the end of visiting.   
He rose and shuffled away, barely looking back, as the door closed behind him. 

He wasn't certain when the exact moment of his change of mindset happened. It was probably the attack.   
That was it.   
The catalyst that made him steel himself, shook him awake and made him know for sure that he had to get out of this place.   
The communal television room. Malcolm scanning yesterday's newspaper.   
Kelvin had been wired all day. Aggressive. Talking tough. Needling others. Picking arguments.   
A grenade waiting for the pin to be pulled.   
There were only two female warders. Today it was the lot of one of them, to be on shift.   
Malcolm raised his eyes from the page, slowly, as Kelvin capered around her, in her face, hands waving, four letter expletives loud and brash.   
Without warning he grabbed her in a neck hold. She had no time to react.   
The speed with which Malcolm crossed the room belied his years. For Kelvin, between feeling his hands on her neck, and feeling long bony fingers on his own, took mere seconds.   
On his back, on the floor, firmly held across the collar bone and chest, looking up into Malcolm's grim face. Burning intensity in the eyes. The taut sinews of his neck, the phenomenal strength in those wiry arms. He tried to struggle free. But was held effortlessly.  
"DON'T!"  
The warning was sharp.   
Running footsteps were heard. The alarm bell ringing harshly. Arms pulled Malcolm off, he relinquished his grip easily. Stepping back and away. Turning, he offered his hand to the warder, helping her up.   
She breathed harshly, hand on her throat.   
"Thank you!" She gasped.   
"You're a marked man Tucker." The attacker spat. "I'll fucking have you."  
"In your dreams, you little cunt." Malcolm replied, his face a mask.   
He walked back to his room, leaving others to deal with the fallout.   
That was it.   
He needed to be free. 

His actions earned him 'enhanced privilege' status. Sam was surprised to receive a phone call.   
Hearing that burr on the other end of the line, made her heart lurch.   
"It's me."  
"Malcolm?"  
"There are some files Sam. From DoSAC. You have access. Nothing illegal. I wouldn't ask.....Can you get them? Bring them here?"  
"Of course, anything.......what's this about?"   
"Ask Glenn to talk to Hewitt. Look at the Tickel papers. There must be something."   
"Malcolm, has something happened?"  
"Yeah. I just woke up! Get Jamie to apply some pressure on Ollie Reeder, he'll enjoy that. That little prick knows something, or I'm Robert the Bruce. Can you do all that Sam? For me?"  
"Consider it done Malcolm, consider it done. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear your voice."   
"I've been granted an extra POV.......can you come? As soon as you have the files. I'll give you the details. I need to see you."

With the sheaf of documents under her arm, Sam entered the visitor room. He was already there.   
His face was eager. Eyes bright and clear.   
He stood when she came in, crossed towards her, put his arms around her. Pulled her close. Crushing the papers to her chest.   
"Oh, Malcolm....." She breathed.   
He smiled. Taking the files from her, setting them down, holding her again, he kissed her, sweet, deep, lingering.   
Sam thought she might actually melt. 

Glenn Cullen had never been much of a crusader. But he'd been part of the political world for a very long time. He was not aggressive, but he knew how to talk to people, be persuasive.   
Angela Heaney, was his target, following his interesting conversation with Simon Hewitt. Angela and Malcolm had been friends, if Malcolm had any friends as such. Not an item, but friends.   
Yes, she would help Glenn out, she couldn't believe it when he'd been convicted. Yes, she would pull some articles from the archive. Write a piece. If it might help. 

Headline:   
Is Malcolm Tucker innocent?   
Our correspondent investigates........

The day the appeal was launched, Malcolm was nervous and fidgety. Probably more so than for his trial.   
His suits no longer fitted. They swamped him. So much had his physique altered.   
Sam chose and purchased a new one. Paul Smith. Dark navy. Tailored. Svelte. Classic.   
She barely recognised the man who stood in the dock.   
He looked so smart, so handsome.   
He gave a flicker of a smile when he spotted her.   
The appeal was granted. On the grounds of new evidence coming to light. The appeal date was set for one month hence.   
Malcolm gave a little fist pump and flashed Sam a smile as he was led away. 

His little team worked flat out. Documents were under subpoena duces tecum. Evidence of forgery and alteration of official documents was suspected.   
It was in the early hours of the morning when the three parted company, with a high five all round.   
They'd done it. Between them. Pulling favours, a little surreptitious persuasion. Malcolm had more allies than he thought. 

It was the evening before the appeal hearing. Malcolm was on the phone to Sam.   
"Is everything fixed?"   
"Yes, Malc. All done. We're ready."   
"How can I thank you? All you've done for me. All of you."   
"It's no more than you're due. We knew you didn't do it."   
"Have you got the tickets?"  
"Yes. Everything's set."   
"You're sure about this?"   
"Malcolm, I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."   
"Fuck! I don't deserve you. I really don't."   
"Shut up, you silly bugger. I don't need to say it, you already know how I feel."   
"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"   
"Try to get some sleep my darling, I know it'll be hard, but try. Think about when it's over. When you're free." 

Mr Tucker. Your appeal has been successful. I pronounce your innocence of all charges. Your sentence and conviction no longer stand. You are free to leave without a stain on your character........

The courtroom emptied slowly. Malcolm hugged both Jamie and Glenn.   
Flash bulbs blinded him. He blinked like an owl in the sunlight.   
He made a brief statement. He took Sam's hand in his own.   
Led her to the waiting car. Once in the back seat, he surprised her by laying his head in her lap, as they sped away.   
She stroked his hair. He sighed deeply.   
Within 45 minutes they were at Heathrow. Pre packed bags in the boot of the car.   
Flight to Glasgow. Call in on his mother briefly.   
Hire car to Oban, then on to Mull. Calmac ferry to Iona. Where Malcolm had holidayed as a child.   
Malcolm sleeping fitfully against her, exhausted.   
Croft Cottage. Peace. Tranquility. Silence, that's what he noticed first and foremost.  
No keys, no doors opening and closing. No voices, no shouts. Nothing.   
The gloaming. That first evening. Holding Sam in his arms.   
"I love you."   
"I love you to, always have."   
He was free.

**Author's Note:**

> As I enjoy writing Malcolm so much, I'm hoping I may get some more prompts, as I really enjoyed writing the first one I received.


End file.
